February 20, 2009
Farrah and I finally made it. We got on Lufthansa yesterday (just barely, as usual) and arrived in Frankfurt at ten thirty this morning. We went by the hotel, dropped the bags, and went straight to Dr. Vogl at the hospital. He did the MRI first and the chemo embolization right afterward. When I got him alone to question him about how it went and what he thought, he wasn’t very positive at all.
“It’s a disaster,” he said. “The primary tumor has grown very large and there is a tumor in her lymph that is blocking the drainage, which is why her left leg is swollen twice the size. I put ninety percent of the chemo into the primary area and the other ten percent into the liver.” I asked why only 10 percent in the liver, and he said, “The primary had to be the priority today.”
“How is the liver?” I asked.
“Not good.” He shook his head. “There are maybe forty tumors now.”
I thought maybe I’d heard wrong. “Forty?!” I asked, hoping he’d said fourteen and it was just the accent.
“Spend all the time you can with her,” he said solemnly.
“What are you saying? How long do you think she has?” By now I was completely numb with shock.
“I don’t know,” he said. And then, “She could die any day.”
I called Dr. Jacob afterward and asked if she’d spoken to Dr. Vogl. I told her what he’d told me and she said she knew. I asked her if I should call Ryan and get him to come over.
“Not yet,” she said. “It would only complicate the situation right now. Let me do these tests and see how everything looks in a few days. If, or when, you need to, you can call him.”
I can’t say anything yet, not even to Ryan? It doesn’t seem right. I feel like he should know, but I don’t want to panic him prematurely.
I can’t believe I could be losing my best friend. What am I saying? I am losing her. It’s a matter of time. Though tonight, she sure didn’t seem near death. She was disappointed that the news wasn’t better, and she didn’t even know the full extent of it. I look at her now and she doesn’t look like Farrah. What is happening to my friend before my eyes? I want to make it all stop and go away and I can’t.
February 22, 2009
It’s 2:30 A.M. I went to sleep around ten last night. I couldn’t keep my eyes open, but sure enough, four hours later I’m wide awake. I just took one and a half Ativan, hoping that’ll do the trick. The last thing I want is to be awake in the middle of the night with nothing to do but think. Earlier this evening, Farrah asked Eileen, the nurse who was with us in Frankfurt, what had happened to Jonathan, the nice Englishman we’d gotten to know here on our last trip. We had filmed him talking to Farrah for the documentary. He had a similar cancer that had also spread to his liver and he was undergoing a similar treatment. Farrah is a very private person, but the cancer had given her a feeling of having something in common with so many people.
“He died day before yesterday,” Eileen said quietly. I caught my breath. Then I turned and saw the effect this news had on Farrah. She got very quiet and didn’t say a word. He’d had the same kind of cancer she has, and she was so positive that he was beating it. He had been a beacon of hope for her.
Dr. Vogl came into the hotel room to check on Farrah around ten this morning. He was quite upset with the doctors back home. He said her liver was in good condition when she left here last June, and he couldn’t understand how it had gotten into this kind of shape between then and now. He actually seemed angry about it. He’s a man of few words, but you definitely knew how he was feeling. He was happy with the CT scan they did after the chemo embolization, however. It showed that the tumor that was causing the leg to swell had already shrunk by 30 percent, which is highly unusual. Her leg is already better this morning.
After that we got dressed, had breakfast, and made the hellish five-hour drive to the clinic. We made a bed in the back of the van for Farrah, who wasn’t feeling very well, but she couldn’t sleep. Little wonder. Mr. Carstens, the crotchety old driver from the clinic, had rented a VW van, which was so light and flimsy that you could feel every bump in the road. I actually felt so carsick that I had to take some of Farrah’s nausea medicine.
We finally arrived around six o’clock and Dr. Jacob was waiting for us. She wanted to talk to Farrah about what Dr. Vogl had found and about the treatment plan she wants to start right away. She said Dr. Vogl had called her three times yesterday and three times this morning, he was so concerned about how things had progressed. She reiterated that the tumor on the lymph node in the lower abdomen was the size of a tennis ball, and that’s why Farrah’s leg was so swollen and she was having such pain. Dr. Vogl had put most of the chemo into the primary tumor and the one in the lymph node because they had to be treated aggressively. She has to go back in ten days for the full liver perfusion.
“It’s not good, but I still have hope,” Dr. Jacob said. “When I no longer have hope, I will tell you to get your affairs in order.” At least that seemed more hopeful than what Dr. Vogl had said to me in private. Dr. Jacob says that Farrah has to stay as long as necessary to reduce the tumors and then come back four or five weeks afterward. Farrah said I can go home early, but I won’t leave her. I can be just as stubborn, my friend.
February 23, 2009
I’ve been looking in on Farrah every so often. Tomorrow we go to Dr. Kiehling, who will put in a port so they don’t have to keep trying to find a vein and repair the hernia in her abdomen that has occurred in the last few months, probably from all the vomiting. I just went over to see her and she was drifting off to sleep.
I called Mimmo to say I would come over for dinner tonight. He said (in Italian, of course) that his friend would be joining us.
“What friend?” I asked him.
“The one I told you about,” he replied. He was talking about the girl he’s been dating, the one he made it sound like he wasn’t all that involved with. He told me over the phone a few weeks ago that he had told her I was his “grande amore,” and that when I came here, he would be seeing me. I can’t imagine any woman taking that very well.
I said, “Mimmo, are you crazy? I don’t want to have dinner with your girlfriend. You and I haven’t even talked, and I’ve never met her.” Then he said she had wanted to come (I’ll bet) and that he couldn’t really tell her she couldn’t. I was kind of flabbergasted, so I just said, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll come another night.”
He said to come for lunch tomorrow, but I told him I was going to Bad Tölz with Farrah to see Dr. Kiehling. I hung up, kind of surprised and disappointed, but what else is new? Honest to God, it seems I always get disappointed by men. I suppose I wanted it all on my terms. After all, he was my distraction from what I’m going through with Farrah. Maybe it’s better this way. I can just write, and read, and spend time with Farrah. I keep remembering Dr. Vogl’s solemn words: “Spend all the time you can with her.” Everything happens for a reason.
February 25, 2009
Farrah looked and sounded much better, although she was in some pain from the surgery yesterday. The pain got worse as the day went on, so they gave her a lot of pain medication, and she went to sleep early tonight.
February 26, 2009
I couldn’t sleep. I’ve woken up about every three hours. I kept thinking about the Mimmo thing. There’s another woman in Mimmo’s life and, frankly, it bothers me. Why can’t I just be happy for him? It’s better for him to have a German girlfriend who is here all the time. He needs someone in his life so he’s not always alone with his dog. I guess I’m just being selfish and I need to pray about it; that I can open my heart and be happy for him.
What I seem to be getting hit over the head with is a lesson in “ego” and letting go. Everything has to change in life, but I, being a Taurus, cling to people and situations until my fingernails bleed. I hate change! It scares me. Always has. Yet everything is changing so rapidly around me these days. My best friend no longer resembles the Farrah I’ve always known and she’s fighting for her life. And my own life continues to be in flux and filled with uncertainty. I feel like there’s no foundation underneath me anymore.
February 28, 2009
A story came out in the Daily Mirror in London and was printed here yesterday saying that Farrah is dying. I had to speak to a journalist here that Dr. Jacob knows and also to someone from Entertainment Tonight who called me.
“Of course it’s not true,” I told them. “She’s here for her usual treatments and we’re finishing the documentary.” I said that this was another example of irresponsible journalism, and that if she were dying, wouldn’t Ryan and her son be here with her? The scary part is that I’m afraid, at some point, it’s going to be true. I’m walking a fine line. I don’t want to be untruthful with anyone, but Farrah is not dying at this moment. I can’t share with the journalists the fears that are deep in my heart. I have to share my optimism. We’re keeping all of this away from Farrah. She doesn’t need to be upset by any of this negative publicity.
March 3, 2009
Today Dr. Jacob came in with Farrah’s reports from the lab. Bad news and good news. The cancer cells have mutated and gotten much more aggressive. The chemo she had in L.A. clearly didn’t work, and the cancer grew and spread. It’s like this thing is an alien monster that nothing so far has been able to stop. But the good news is that the sensitivity testing showed that there are a number of substances that should work on her kind of cancer, and Dr. Jacob is starting her on them immediately. Farrah continues to be in a lot of pain and hardly gets out of bed. She’s on heavy pain medication, and we have to go back to Dr. Vogl on Thursday for another perfusion of the liver and the other tumors. Dr. Jacob feels very positive that the new treatment plan she’s going to implement will make a big difference.
March 5, 2009
We’re in the van driving a million miles an hour on the way to Frankfurt for Farrah’s procedure with Dr. Vogl. It’s like being in the Indy 500, the way these people drive. I pray we’ll make it there in one piece.
Later
We’re on the way back, literally flying along the autobahn at breakneck speed in blinding rain. Mr. Carstens, our ancient German driver, ignores me every time I tentatively ask, “Aren’t we going a little fast?” I’m too nervous to lie down and try to sleep even though it’s after eleven o’clock and I’m exhausted. Farrah is sound asleep in the backseat. I’m glad the day is over for her and it went smoothly. I guess that’s easy for me to say, considering I’m not the one who had to have her main artery sliced open and a long tube of wire threaded into her liver, where the chemo and antibody drugs were injected. She had to rest for four hours afterward in a recovery room to make sure the bleeding had stopped, and then we were allowed to leave.
I feel numbed by all of this. My friend no longer looks like herself. She now looks like a cancer victim: weak, gaunt, and without her glorious mane of hair. She looks like a little fragile bird. It’s heartbreaking.
March 6, 2009
We returned to the clinic yesterday. Today Dr. Jacob came into my room to talk about how things went.
“Dr. Vogl was unusually quiet,” I told her. “He didn’t say much. I don’t think he was happy with what he found.”
“No,” she said. “He was very unhappy with the condition of the liver. There are so many tumors in the liver now, he says it’s very serious and doesn’t know if she will make it. But I have hopes that these other therapies will start to work and that the perfusion he did yesterday will shrink the tumors in the liver and the pelvic region.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
“She will not have very much time,” she answered solemnly.
Dr. Jacob said that Farrah knows the liver is serious but doesn’t know how bad it is, and Dr. Jacob doesn’t want her to know. I agree. Farrah has to have hope to keep fighting.
Maybe I’m starting to understand why this has happened with Mimmo. I need to be with my friend all the time and not be distracted by anything else. Dr. Vogl’s words are still ringing in my ears: “Spend all the time you can with her.” I can’t believe this is happening. But despite it all I still have hopes for a miracle.
March 10, 2009
Farrah’s hernia site, where Dr. Kiehling operated, hasn’t healed properly, and there’s a large hematoma there. She went into the hospital yesterday for Dr. Kiehling to perform a second surgery. Now Dr. Jacob doesn’t know how long it will be before she can have the next liver perfusion. It’s starting to feel like we’ll be here forever. We’re booked to go back on the twenty-third, but I don’t see that happening.
March 11, 2009
Things are looking up. Last night Farrah was better. Our friend Dominick Dunne is here at the clinic, and he gave us some of his videos. We watched The Two Mrs. Woodwards, and ended up giggling about men in my past before going to sleep.
“This is fun,” Farrah said. “Kind of like having a slumber party.”
I felt like I had my girlfriend back for the moment. These times seem to be fewer and further apart.
March 13, 2009
I don’t know what got into Farrah today. She threw a bottle at the housekeeper and knocked everything off her table in a fit of rage. Everyone is afraid to go into her room. I think it’s a combination of the pain medication she’s been on for so long now and everything just building up in her over the past couple of years. She’s had to endure so many surgeries and procedures, so much pain, so many indignities. I can’t blame her for getting angry and having to release it all. I came when I heard the ruckus and tried to calm her down. “What’s going on?” I asked. She was in pain and she had been calling the nurses for an hour and couldn’t get their attention. She just lost it, understandably so. “Just don’t throw anything at me, Blanche,” I teased. I’ve been calling her that since one of our earlier trips here when she was hooked up to an IV and couldn’t move off her bed. After asking me to get her about ten different things, I finally turned to her and said, “You’re skating on thin ice, Blanche. Don’t be surprised if you find a rat on your dinner tray tonight.” It became a running joke for us: I called her Blanche and I was Baby Jane.
March 22, 2009
I feel like I’m in Groundhog Day. Each day just melds into the next. Over a week has passed and nothing has changed that much. Farrah has had ups and downs, and seems a little better today, but she’s still not well enough to fly home. She’s so weak and frail, and barely eats anything. They’re giving her liquid nutrition through the IV now.
I’m feeling unbelievably depressed, like there’s no end in sight. I don’t want to focus on myself when she’s so ill, but I’m desperate to get home. I miss my kids and my dogs so much, but most of all, at this moment, I miss Farrah. This has been the worst trip of all. At least during the others we were able to hang out, laugh, and have some fun times in the midst of all the seriousness.
Every week now is a roller coaster; one day she’s better, the next she’s worse. I never know what the day will hold when I wake in the morning. All I can do is pray.
March 27, 2009
We’re leaving tomorrow, finally! A real blizzard came in on Tuesday and it snowed like crazy for two full days. I was in heaven. Everything looked just like a Christmas card. The Germans are fed up with snow, but Farrah and I just sat and watched it coming down.
Growing up in Texas, we never had snow except for once on Christmas Eve in Nacogdoches when I was five. I remember standing at the window, waiting for my mother to arrive, and watching these beautiful snowflakes with awe. Farrah and I didn’t say much as we sat there watching the snow; we were sort of hypnotized. I’ve never seen such large snowflakes, big lacy doilies floating down for hours on end.
At one point, she said, “You’ve given up so much of your life to do this for me. I don’t know how I can ever thank you.” I replied, “If I had a sister, I’d do it for her, and you’re like my sister.” I made my way through the lines hanging from the IV pole to hug her. It was one of the most intimate, tender moments we’ve ever had.
Later
I went over to Mimmo’s for lunch and he was very sweet. He had his lunch with me after everyone left, and I told him I was leaving tomorrow and that I probably would not be coming back. I also told him Dr. Jacob is moving the clinic to the Black Forest near Stuttgart. I said it might be the last time we saw each other and he said, “No, it won’t be the last time. You will either come back or I will come to L.A. in November.”
I asked him what about his girlfriend and he said something I didn’t quite understand, like he would simply tell her he was “going on vacation.” He also said he’d never get married. He said he was fed up with working so hard and he was going to sell the restaurant and live somewhere else, where it was warm. I get the sense that he’s still in love with me, and he works very hard at being strong because we’re so far apart. But the bottom line is that it’s over. And although I’ve been affected by it much more than I thought I’d be, I need to let it go. Sad…
Farrah had an ultrasound late this afternoon and Dr. Jacob said there was fluid in her liver and it had to be removed. She told Farrah she would deaden the area and she wouldn’t feel anything. Then she stuck what looked like a five-inch needle in her stomach and Farrah literally screamed in pain. And that was just to deaden the area so she could stick a tube inside the liver and drain the excess fluid out. It looked God-awful. Afterward, back in her room, Farrah was in a lot of pain. They gave her some pain medication and we talked on the bed for a long time. It was as if she didn’t want me to leave her.
March 28, 2009
I can’t believe we’re on the plane to Los Angeles. I wasn’t sure Farrah could make it, she was in such pain and so weak, but somehow we managed to get her together, packed, and into the car.
Paparazzi were parked outside on the street in a black Porsche SUV and followed us to the Munich airport. We’d alerted the Lufthansa VIP people who were meeting us, and they had the police there. I got out first and immediately spotted a paparazzo down the street taking pictures of the car and the waiting wheelchair. Farrah stayed inside the car while the police chased him away. Then the guy in the black Porsche pulled up behind us, and I had to tell the police he was the one who had followed us from the clinic. They chased him away as well. They’d never be able to do that in L.A. They’d scream about their First Amendment rights and the next day they’d hire Gloria Allred to represent them.
We got Farrah out and into the wheelchair while the Lufthansa ladies held up blankets around her in case the paparazzi were somewhere around with long-range lenses. We got inside without incident, through the VIP terminal, and onto the plane. Farrah was in a lot of pain, so I gave her a pain shot and she’s sleeping now. The problem is that the paparazzi from Munich will have alerted people in Los Angeles and I’m afraid there will be a slew of them waiting for us. It’s not so easy to avoid them at LAX because they can come right into the terminal and there’s no other way out that I know of. We’ll have to see if the Lufthansa reps meeting us can come up with something.
March 29, 2009
It was quite something at the airport last night. It all went smoothly until we got through customs, and suddenly we were ambushed by paparazzi, who got the picture they’ve been waiting for: Farrah in a wheelchair. We tried our best to surround her and get her into the car, but I’m sure they got what they wanted.
“Are you guys proud of yourselves?” I yelled at the one with the video camera. “How do you sleep at night, you slimy vermin?!” Honest to God, I really wanted to grab his camera and smash it on the ground, but I somehow resisted. I figured this was not the time to get arrested.
April 5, 2009
Dr. Piro put Farrah in the hospital four days ago. She’s in a lot of pain from the hematoma, and her blood tests weren’t good, so he needs to give her a transfusion. When I saw her today, I was shocked at how she looked, so gaunt and pale and drawn. I’ve thought that a couple of times before, but she never looked like this. It really frightens me.
April 6, 2009
My phone started ringing at 8 A.M. this morning and didn’t stop all day. I literally didn’t have time to get out of my nightgown until tonight, when I changed to pajamas. I think I must have had over fifty phone calls about Farrah and all these crazy stories in the press reporting that she’s in a coma and hovering near death. Finally, Dr. Piro made a statement to the media, but instead of quieting it down and making it go away, it just kept growing. The Associated Press reported that the cancer had gone to her liver, like it had just happened, when the Enquirer reported it over a year ago. It was like writing that Abe Lincoln had just been shot. What is wrong with all these people? It’s become a feeding frenzy.
April 7, 2009
I took my dog Lolita for her surgery this morning and then went up to the hospital to see Farrah. She looked much better today and was more lucid. Dr. Piro is cutting down on the pain medication and she’s not completely out of it all the time. She’s still not even close to being herself, but at least I am beginning to see a glimmer of hope. I went to Poquito Mas and got us nachos in hopes she might eat something. She promised she would if I went to get them, but she only had a bite. She promised to eat more later.
The vet’s assistant called and said Lolita was doing fine and in recovery. Then he told me that they had sent the tumor for another biopsy because it was deeper than they had thought and had blood vessels going from it. Fatty tissue tumors, which the doctor had thought that it was, don’t generally have blood vessels attached. That’s all I needed to hear to throw me into a full-scale panic attack. What if it’s malignant? I tried to get some encouraging words out of him, but I wasn’t at all satisfied. He said they had to send it in to the lab to rule out malignancy, but he didn’t leave me feeling very reassured. He also told me that her left hip joint has some dysplasia, and that’s why she seems to be having trouble with her left leg. Please, God, don’t let anything happen to my dog. I can’t bear it. Not now. Not any time soon. I just can’t bear any more loss right now.
I picked her up this evening and she was very quiet and subdued. She’s sleeping on the living room rug now. I curled up beside her and just lay there.
April 9, 2009
I went to the hospital to meet Ryan and bring Farrah home. We disguised her and got her into the wheelchair and out the back door of the hospital to avoid any paparazzi. She went straight to bed and to sleep when we got back to the apartment, and Ryan and I watched the documentary footage. We really wanted it to be great, but it wasn’t what we had hoped it would be. Initially Ryan was a lot more critical than I was, because I needed to think about it for a while, but then what I realized was that it was very confusing.
It always worried me that Farrah was so positive she could control it all. Whenever I voiced my concerns she’d say, “Don’t worry, I have final approval. We’ll go into the edit room and work on it. It’ll be fun.” But I knew she was getting sicker and that she wasn’t going to be able to physically do what she would have to do to ensure that it would turn out how she envisioned. I don’t know what will happen.
April 10, 2009
Finally, Lolita’s vet called to say the second tumor was malignant, but he quickly pointed out that it wasn’t the kind of cancer that spreads throughout the body or metastasizes. It will, however, more than likely come back unless Lolita has radiation or a second surgery that’s very invasive. He doesn’t recommend radiation for her because she’s almost nine years old and has Addison’s disease, and radiation wouldn’t necessarily ensure that the tumor won’t come back. He said the second surgery would get all the cells in the surrounding tissue and would give her a better chance of the tumor not recurring. But even that wouldn’t be for sure.
I’m so confused. My instinct is not to put Lolita through this torturous surgery and just start a lot of prayer work for her. My minister says that animals really respond to prayer. She’s been sleeping on the bed again. She can only put her front paws up, and I have to lift her bottom up. I just want to slow down the clock and have her live for many more years, but that wouldn’t be possible even without the tumor. She’s already nine and big dogs like her don’t have such a long life span. I just want it not to be real; a figment of my imagination. By bedtime, I felt beat up and numb with depression. Why am I surrounded by cancer?
April 13, 2009
I cooked Easter dinner for the kids last night: fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, black-eyed peas, and cornbread. Good Texas food. I took some over to Farrah today, and Ryan got her to eat a little. She’s hardly been eating anything.
Farrah was strong enough today to have a meeting with her attorney and business manager, Bernie Francis. When Bernie asked her who she wanted in charge creatively of the documentary, she very clearly said “Ryan” and succinctly explained why. She sat up in bed and said, “Ryan and I have been together so many years and I trust him to know exactly how I think and what I would want creatively.” I was so relieved. At least I know that he will protect her and oversee something that she will be proud of.
Afterward, she, Ryan, and I watched Dominick Dunne’s show, Power, Privilege and Justice, on television, and she was able to watch the entire show before she went to sleep. We had a really nice evening together. I felt encouraged when I left.
April 17, 2009
Tonight Farrah, Ryan, and I were all piled on her bed watching the cut of the documentary that Ryan and I had already seen and that we—and NBC—were disappointed in. Farrah watched the entire thing intently. Afterward, she said very clearly, “You guys have a lot of work to do.” Then she turned over and went to sleep.
April 18, 2009
It’s been a long, stressful week. Farrah signed all the papers that the attorney and business manager needed her to sign so that Ryan can take over creative control of the documentary while she isn’t able to oversee it.
Ryan went to his wrap party tonight, so I told him I’d stay with Farrah. The nurse was there, but it didn’t seem right to leave Farrah alone without one of us. I made her some toast, the kind her dad makes where you put dabs of butter on white bread and put it in the toaster oven. She ate a few bites, but that was all. The doctor ordered IV nutrition for her today and she has it dripping into her twenty-four hours a day. She’s so much thinner now than she was in the hospital; it looks as if I could get my finger and thumb around her arm. She’s so weak that she can barely get up by herself.
I talked to Dr. Piro about it today. He said that if she started to gain a little weight and strength he could start her back on some of the cancer drugs, but at the moment she can’t tolerate anything. It scares me that it could be only a matter of time now. I hope I’m wrong; I hope she hasn’t given up. How could she not at some point? How much suffering can a body go through before all the fight is gone? I think those two surgeries and the liver procedure and the accompanying pain on top of the chemo she’d had here were just too much for her. It doesn’t seem possible that it was almost two years ago that the cancer returned and she made that first trip to Germany. It seems like yesterday that we were all there. It had been such a successful trip, and we left with high hopes that she was going to beat this. And now…
I lay on the bed with her for a long time tonight. She was in and out of sleep, and I just lay there thinking and staring at the muted television screen. Finally, for the first time in weeks, I cried. Not the wracking sobs I feel somewhere deep inside me, just moist, silent tears sliding down my cheeks. The Farrah that I’ve known for so long is no longer there. I’m losing my best friend; in many ways I’ve already lost her. I’m grieving for that loss. How do I accept that we’ll never go shopping again or get manicures or make pecan pies at Christmas? Or commiserate about our children, our men, our little aches and pains? Everything is always so much more fun when she is there.
April 26, 2009
I’m trying to catch up with everything. We met all Friday afternoon with Doug Vaughan, the NBC exec, who flew out from New York for the day, and Sandy Gleysteen, the producer they’ve brought on board to try to pull this mess together. Both Ryan and I liked Doug and Sandy very much and feel like we’re all on the same page, to make something that Farrah will be as proud of as if she’d been able to oversee it herself.
I went over to the apartment yesterday morning to film Redmond coming to visit Farrah. He’s still in jail in the Twin Towers, but they let him come to see his mom for a couple of hours. He was accompanied by two sheriffs, who literally waited inside the door of Farrah’s room while Redmond saw her. They took his handcuffs off so she wouldn’t see them, but his ankles were still shackled. It nearly broke my heart to see him like that. The first couple of times he went into her room she was barely awake, but then later she woke up and was able to talk with him. I didn’t film anything with her, just Redmond lying on the bed with her from a distance in the darkened room. I don’t want to film her anymore like this. It doesn’t feel right. I haven’t filmed anything close on her for a while now. I know she wouldn’t want to be remembered like this, so frail and small and sick.
Ryan and I also filmed an interview with Redmond that we hope to put in the documentary, because he needs to be seen as who he really is: a very sweet, smart kid with a drug problem, not some messed-up criminal. My heart went out to him. How it must feel to see his mother like this and to have to go back to jail. We’re hoping he’ll be transferred to the Impact Program for addicts at Wayside and not sent to prison, which it seems is still a very real possibility. After we filmed, I made him some bacon and scrambled eggs and had a nice talk with him. It’s the first time I’ve seen him sober and clean in so long. It was bizarre, because the lady sheriff stayed in the small kitchen with us, and actually we all ended up having a really good conversation. She told him it was up to him now to change his life. I’m sure that’s what everyone says, but it was interesting coming from her. She seemed to have a real understanding of drug addiction and was surprisingly compassionate. Funny, as she stood there in her brown uniform, her arms crossed and her gun at her side.
April 27, 2009
I went over to Farrah’s. Ryan was there. We were lying on the bed, and when I said I needed to go home to feed my dogs, she said, so clearly, “Do you have to go? This is so much fun.”
I said, “No, I don’t have to go. I’ll stay.” I got her to eat a few bites of food, but not much. She said, again, “This is fun.” I wonder if she’s remembering the fun we used to have, the good times. Farrah was more awake and alert than I’ve seen her in quite a while. Then she started to feel some pain and asked for her pain medication and was soon sleeping. Sweet dreams, honey.
April 30, 2009
Everything is moving really quickly. I’m feeling scared and overwhelmed with all the work in front of us. Ryan and I have to do the Today show on Monday, satellite interviews, People magazine, and this screening at the Paley Center. It’s all happened at once and I’m terrified. It all seems surreal, the documentary coming out when Farrah is so ill. It feels like maybe it’s disrespectful of her condition, but I guess at this point we can’t stop it. NBC had already committed to an air date. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The story was meant to have a different ending. Farrah should be doing the Today show, not me and Ryan.
May 1, 2009
I went to see Farrah tonight. She was more awake and coherent for a little while. She smiled when she saw me. I told her how much I missed her the last two days and that the reason I hadn’t come was because I was sick. I told her I’d made macaroni and cheese and chicken matzo ball soup, and she lit up. I also told her Dr. Jacob was coming with this new antibody and that she had to keep her faith. She took my hand and said, “Maybe this will turn everything around.” I lay with her for a while after she had her pain medication and read to her from Science and Health, the Christian Science book by Mary Baker Eddy. I read her a couple of prayers, which she liked, and then some stories of healing that people had experienced from just reading the book. She listened and seemed to really like it. I’m going to try to do that every day now. I’m starting to just see her in God’s light and love and believe that there can be a miracle. I can’t see her as dying, no matter what the medical world says. I realized that I, of all people, can’t give up on her yet. Maybe I’m in denial, but I have to practice this new belief that I’m reading about, the power of God to do what might to human eyes seem impossible.
May 7, 2009
Ryan and I got the cut of the show and watched it at my house because it wouldn’t work in any of Farrah’s machines. We both thought it was pretty good, and we made notes, but nothing major. Afterward, we went back to Farrah’s. I made her a grilled cheese sandwich, which she ate a few bites of, and she drank some tea. Ryan and I hung out on the bed with her for a while. He’s so sweet and gentle with her. She seemed a little more like Farrah than usual. She even made sense until she got her next injection of pain medication, and then she wanted to know “where her dogs were.” An interesting question since she doesn’t have any, bless her heart. She went off to sleep and I went home.
May 13, 2009
Tonight was the premiere of Farrah’s Story at the Paley Center in Beverly Hills. I felt like pinching myself; everything has been happening so fast and furiously. Doug Vaughan introduced me, and I made a short speech introducing the documentary. I was nervous about what the reaction would be, but I was completely blown away by the response. Many people in the audience literally cried all through the film, and afterward everyone was raving about it.
I was incredibly proud to be a part of it, but I almost felt like I didn’t deserve the praise I was getting. I wanted to say, “But all I really did was hold the camera.” I almost can’t believe that I actually shot most of this film. But the person who really deserves the credit is Sandy Gleysteen for working so tirelessly to pull it together in time, as well as Ryan for his creative input. And most of all Farrah, for being willing to share her journey and her courage. She’s such an inspiration and has touched people so profoundly. I can’t believe it all started with her filming her doctors that day at UCLA when they told her the cancer had come back. And then she handed the camera to me in Germany and asked me to film. Who would have thought it would turn into this? All that was sadly missing was Farrah. This was really her evening.
May 15, 2009
We watched the documentary at Farrah’s last night, just Ryan, Farrah, and me. She really liked it. She said that she thought we did a great job. She wasn’t very comfortable, but she made it through the entire thing. I have to say, seeing it again, that it’s really an amazing show, and so well done. Dr. Piro came over to watch the end of it with us.
After it was over, I asked her, “So, did you really like it?”
She answered very clearly, “I liked it very, very, very, very, very much.”
God, was I relieved. Then I asked, jokingly, “So you’re still speaking to me after seeing the bald shot?”
She said again that she liked it and thought we’d done a great job. I’d really been sweating that one, just in case she wouldn’t have wanted it in, but I think she sees how powerful and how honest it was. Dr. Piro echoed what Sandy had said earlier, that it was extremely important for any woman who had ever lost her hair to chemo to see Farrah show such courage and power over losing probably the most famous head of hair in the world. And instead of being a victim, she had shaved it herself rather than wait for the chemo to take it.
Today, I’m so tired. It’s more brain tired than physically tired. I’m feeling overwhelmed by all the phone calls and e-mails, but I guess I should be happy.
They were the golden couple.
When they walked into a room, you just knew it from the looks on everyone’s faces. The whole room would brighten up the minute they arrived. No matter what the party was—whether it was just sitting around the house and having drinks or a black tie New Year’s Eve party—it was always more fun with them there.
This photo was taken at the party I threw for Farrah’s birthday on February 2, 1991. They were always a great combination. He told stories and held court, while she was ever the willing and enthusiastic audience. Farrah played off him and they’d banter back and forth.
They had their ups and downs—there’s no denying that. But sometimes you feel like two people are made for each other, and that’s how I always felt about them. Through all their struggles they were there for each other, this perfect match that seemed like they’d been through everything together twice.